Fake Cum Creampie

I am well aware and if you are not so aware, you are about to become aware, that what we see sometimes in porn...is...an illusion.  Up until the 1990's, there were a lot of video tricks used, especially in mainstream straight porn.  I'm not talking about the strategic crossing of legs, 'invisible' condoms or 'precautions,' an injection of lube treated with nonoxynol-9 to minimize the transmission of HIV.  I'm taking about phony cum.

Sometimes its application is pretty obvious, when a creamy flow of seed is emitted in a torrent akin to a malfunctioning softserve dispenser.  An early Dick Wadd video comes to mind.  But that's what happens when a director resorts to video tricks; that pina colada mix used to simulate semen has to be just right, or it gets just plain comical.

But I myself had to resort to a video trick last week when while attending a sex party at a Palm Springs gay resort, I discovered I had forgotten my lube.  Actually, the bottle had slipped out of my pocket and was safe in my car.  I trolled around the place but couldn't find anybody else's lube where to borrow from.  Most of my fellow bareback bottoms are pretty earthy and we don't mind sharing...cum, piss, viagra, poppers...lube. But I was the only bottom among the tribe of swingin' dick tops.  I finally settled on some SoftSoap that I found in the john.  I was afraid it might sting once in my ass, but it did not.  So I lubed up with the SoftSoap and returned to the play room to get fucked, and get fucked I did.

Three or four daddies fucked this hot poz ass, a couple I knew from before, and they, too, are certifiably HIV-positive.  One silver daddy plowed deep and hard, with a fierce fuck and sloshy sound effects raising audible comments like 'what a creampie' from a crowd of men taking in the action.  This was turning into a loud, squishy affair, made final by a spectacular orgasm with grunts and more squish.  I was milking that poz cock for all it was worth, and then silver daddy resumed fucking, pushing his toxic contribution deep into my basement.  He was't the only top there into creampies.  Other tops followed, turning my mancunt into a messy, cummy toxic stewpot.  Hey, I wasn't about to tell anybody it was SoftSoap that got the whole thing started.  Now anybody who reads this post knows the real story.

Death of a Sweater Queen

Tooling around Palm Springs on a winter Saturday, it is impossible to avoid garage sales.  Now there are garage sales and then there are garage sales.  In resort towns with a high proportion of senior citizens, folks are checking out by the dozens every day.  Their real estate turns, and their heirs must decide what to do with a lifetime's acquisitions.  Estate sales are even better as they are usually operated by hired professionals and the whole house is accessible with every little thing tagged for sale...little thing as in ashtrays and candy dishes.  In affluent neighborhoods of gay Palm Springs, an estate sale affords the rare opportunity to enter an impressive, exclusive residence, steeped in history and style.  I'm sure this is also true of Palm Beach, Fort Lauderdale and the Hamptons.

After you've been to a few of these estate sales in Palm Springs, all those bits of information you've absorbed over the years of your gay life must be reconsidered, such as:

All gays have good taste.  So-o-o untrue.  Just check out the next gay estate sale.  Pity.

Palm Springs is a suburb of Los Angeles.  I will admit there is a lingering association with Hollywood, but we all have to work harder to keep it alive.  All the great things to love about Old Hollywood are getting lost amid the trashwave of Khardashians, Miley Cyrus and media types I read about yesterday whose names I've already forgotten.  Gays must keep the appreciation of Hollywood alive.  If not us, who else?  That big gross butt-ugly statue of Marilyn in the heart of downtown takes us in a wrong direction.

Palm Springs is the City of GODS, or rather Gays on Disability and Steroids.  So untrue.  Most are retirees who spent much of their gay lives hiding who they are, and are now getting to enjoy life.  Many are living off investments and savings of a lifetime, and they worked hard to get where they are.

Gays are good at real estate.  Maybe better than everybody else, but we're now spending too much money on safe real estate investments.  The pioneering spirit in real estate that basically rebuilt San Francisco, and is working its stuff in parts of Los Angeles, Oakland and Sacramento, has been put to bed in Palm Springs.  Maybe Palm Springs has already been saved by the guys who started buying up those midcentury tract houses back in the '90's.  Now people, wanting in, are paying too much.

Gays collect more sweaters than anybody else.  This must be a cultural thing.  When I was a kid there was such a thing as a sweater bar, where well-groomed professional types could meet hustlers in a safe, discreet environment.  I can't think of any such place now except for maybe the Town House in New York City.  The places were usually very dark, playing show tunes and never rock or disco, and everybody knew each other, including the hookers.  I was afraid to go into a sweater bar because everybody there was supposed to be cliquey and snotty, but then I started hitting the old Yerba Buena Village on Nob Hill and the Alta Plaza in Pacific Heights and made some friendships that have lasted to this day.  I went to Macy's and bought a black cashmere sweater...but only one and that was it.  The estate sale that brought all this back was in Palm Springs last month.  Everything the Departed had owned was up for grabs and I knew he had to have been an elderly gent, as in, old enough to be my gay uncle and frequent sweater bars. Sweaters....galore!  Sweaters not just for the Town House, but sweaters for hiking, fishing, gardening and sitting by the fire.  Italian cashmere sweaters, Scottish wool sweaters, Greek fisherman's sweaters.  Some very expensive, some not so.  In every color.  Enough sweaters to fill two department store style racks.  It was wonderful to see this...a sweater queen exiting in a blaze of glory.

In Praise of Vann Williams: Hottest Black Bottom Ever

I wouldn't be so silly as to declare any one bottom as the greatest of all time.  There are a great many hot bottoms who have since retired from the business, and some who have also departed forever to that great porn studio in the sky, who still and will continue to delight millions well into the future, thanks to a fabulous and wonderful technology that is now largely taken for granted.  A hot bottom is a joy forever.  Jon King...we salute you..and will never forget you.

But in the fantasy that is porn there is one unwritten law; all hung black porn stars are tops.  Investigate the record of hits on the internet searching for black tops/white bottoms and you will find numbers that trend to infinity.  White tops on black bottoms...uhm...let me get back to you.  Such is the mystique of black dick, so deeply ingrained into western Euroamericana psychosis, compounded by racialism and wishful thinking.  Talented black bottoms are getting fucked and giving pleasure every hour of the day and it's mostly under the radar.  That's all the more reason to call out Mr. Vann Williams, one of Black Breeders' super talented porn stars, functioning mostly as a bottom, and taking load after load of black cum.  You can check out this manly, bearded stud on the Black Breeders website, and for you cheapass mutherfuckas, Black Breeders posts its generous teasers (usually 1min59 sec in duration) on Xtube.  If there's another built, bubbled butt, masculine black bottom taking miles of thick black dick, I've yet to see him.  Until then, Mr. Vann is the man.

Black Top Says My Hole Ain't Loose Enuf, Kicks Me Out

It was supposed to be a fetish scene involving a sling, toys and blindfolds.  We're both supposed to be blindfolded.  After navigating my way through this massive apartment complex in the desert, I was instructed to put the blindfold on and get into the sling.  The top gave me orders from another room in the apartment; I wasn't supposed to see him and he didn't want to see me.  He was wearing a blindfold, too.

The play session wasn't all that bad, and I was doing my part, eventhough I'm not much into toys as foreplay.  In private, yeah, but otherwise, I find toys a distraction...too often the top shows how dependent he is on toys, and that's as far as it gets.  On this occasion, the top slipped into a series of penile devices, variations of the common strap-on.  Well, this is not bad if it leads to some real skin-on-skin fucking.

The top was nicely hung but not rock hard, maybe something short of semi-hard...as with massive dicks not completely hard, it was a floppy dick but not so soft as to feel like a loofah working its way into my ass.  I'm still game, though, as his dick is way big enough to create some nice sensations in my ass, and I clamped down, squeezing it as best I could.  I thought of Jeff Stryker's command, 'Tighten that purty l'il ass' and I did my super best.

'You're ass is too tight.  My dick needs a big, loose hole to get hard,' or something like that is what this top said, something you'd never heard Jeff say.  Well, okay, I've had MANY (probably hundreds by now) big-dicked tops use their rods like bottle brushes pushing deep into my big hole, and ain't never anyone said my ass was too tight.  But it is a rule: a bottom don't argue with the top...ahem, even if you're married to him.  Just keep your fuckin' mouth shut. The blindfolds came off.  I knew he was a black guy because of his profile.  He's more handsome in person.

From my perspective, it was an OK fuck, better than staying home and watching videos.  And the top was a perfectly nice guy, not rude or nasty at all.  He just wanted a loose, loose, loose hole.  Here's hoping he finds it in that desert town with a gayish neighborhood called Deep Well.  For starters, he should consider moving there to find out if it lives up to its name.

Black Yungsta Digs White Daddy Ass

You can go to the baths on a busy night, but that doesn't necessarily mean you're going to get stuffed with a host of fine dick.  Go on a slow week night and you might be surprised.  With fewer guys, a top is going to be unwilling to wait very long for the next bottom to show up.  On a slow night, you're likely to get a long session, or a round two.  It takes only one man to make a difference, and that's what happened at my most recent visit to the tubs.  One black guy...three times...one night...a landmark occasion, at least for me.

This dude was really young, certainly in his 20's, sturdy and well-built, hung and black.  I mean, what's not to like?  The thing is, he probably thinks he's a dork...we're in Berkeley and he's probably associated with the University in one way or another.  I mean...he fucks with his glasses on.  He didn't flinch when I smeared some lube on his big raw black cock.  So like, you wear glasses?  Like who gives a flying fuck?

Well, he did take them off eventually, which was kind of too bad, because I can't remember the last time I got meat delivered by a guy wearing specs so that part was a turn-on.  And by the way, he's no dork.
We had three separate sessions over the course of five hours.  He kept coming back for more, and this night for me was anything but slow.

When you've got a big dick, you can afford to experiment with your bottom, to try different positions or alter your fuckstyle to see what he can take.  This dude's style was to treat me like his fuck bucket; with a big chocolate stick that he whipped around, hitting my hole walls at various angles, the best for a sloppy hole which he made sure to make, cumming multiple times.  He liked to twist me around like a pretzel and was able to get leverage from every angle and never slipping out...ah, the pleasure of a big dick.

Something new, at least for me: what I will call a 'tee fuck,' penetration at a 90 degree angle.  He put me on my side, stretched out my legs so I was straight, and then got in at a perfect tee from behind...digging in and never slipping out, not once.  In three sessions, I was dug out in just about every way.  So complete, so hot, and so young.

A Man's Man: Big Dicked Prince Albert and Balls of Leather

Sometimes in all comes together, and when it does, it's always a surprise...and so much the better.  Let's start with a handsome man: tall with curly dark hair, a manly face, and the sturdy, fleshy build much favored by Italian Renaissance painters, and then a plump, delectable dick...a real Michelangelo classical dick, slightly curving, with a nice round head.  I know...Michelangelo's dicks were all uncut...but don't mess it up for me.  A nice fat dick.  And with a thick Prince Albert, maybe a 4 or 6 gauge in the barbell style...big enough to show some sparkle even in a dimly lit room.  A man's man with a fat dick, a sexy piercing and protruding...ah, definitely swaying...gigantic balls hanging like a couple of over-ripe fruits.

I enjoy vacuum-pumping as much as the next guy, and I work out a little every day, just long enough to plumping up before going out.  And while I do have the extra-super large cylinder for ball pumping, I just haven't got into that area.  So, I ask those in the know: does pumping up the scrotum have any effect on the texture of one's balls?  I ask because this dude's balls were like leather, ruffed up, clutchable, and I would have played with them more if that had been the reason for his presence here.  He was here to fill and drill my ass, which he fulfilled with all the force, confidence and control of a man's man.

There is male to male action and there is man to man action; they are different things.  This man's man put this man in his place, to be sure.  There was only one thing, though: when getting thoroughly roughfucked, I love to feel the slap of a man's man's big balls against my ass.  In the case of leather balls, they're so fuckin' heavy, they don't slap, but rather they just sort of shake.  I know I just should end this right now...forget the slappin' balls, this was another great fuck for the annals of anal.

Poz Stigma Makes for Hot Sex - Part Two

The notion of a stigma, attached to an HIV-positive diagnosis, prevails among the mainstream media and what I call the AIDS mafia, those organizations and activists who evidently want us seropositivos to hang it up and spend the rest of our lives wallowing in self-pity.  I think that most seropositivos have already rejected the idea that we are victims and must retire from sex.  Sero-sorting has become a way of life for us and we might as well bareback because we have no illusions about the reality of our status.  I wouldn't go so far as to say that all the hot gay men out there are already HIV-positive, but I think I've made my point.  We're alive, we're positive and we're having sex.

About a year ago, the Washington Post published an interesting article using D. J. Steedley as an example, of the 'new face' of HIV in this country.  Like most of us poz types, D.J. is on an anti-viral regime (in fact, part of a study group associated with the NIH) and doing just fine, both physically...and significantly...mentally.  He's adjusted to his status and is living his life accordingly. If you don't know him, redeem yourself immediately and check out the Treasure Island Media website; he's an All-American type, handsome, blond, clean-cut...an intelligent frat boy.

However...shortly before the Post had filed the story, D.J. did a very sexy thing that outraged the AIDS mafia: he signed a contract with Treasure Island Media to fuck in bareback videos.  The Post, being the great paper that it is, subsequently clarified this development, without acknowledging that D.J.'s porn contract is merely a manifestation of how some of us are getting on with our lives.  In his case, he's a hot top who is going to earn a little money doing what he likes to do; like fucking hairy daddy George Glass in TIM's 'Bad Seed.'  Poz stigma, they'll say.  I say, 'what poz stigma?'  Now that I know that D.J. will be pumping his nasty manjuice up the receptive mancunts of sleazy ass bottoms who don't give a shit...he's hotter than ever.  And as everybody outside the mainstream media already knows, there's full disclosure on the Treasure Island Media shoots.  Any bottom getting D. J.'s poz load knows and wants what he's getting.  Of course...that makes it even hotter.

As for D.J.'s porn debut, let's just say I'm looking forward to his future pairings with some white trash bottoms.  And as for 'Bad Seed,' I think it's TIM's best video so far this year; that Preston Johnson, uhm...wow.